Beginning of the End
by notantihero
Summary: It all starts with the arrival of the sister she wishes she'd never see again. The first mistake is letting her back into Elsa's life. The second? Going for coffee at her favourite café. That's when the world starts to end, and they're caught in the middle like two sitting ducks. Zombie AU; Elsanna
1. The end

The world ends with a bang, they say. Or a whimper, depending on how melodramatic you are. Elsa happens to think it's bullshit, because her world is ending right then and there, not with a bang nor a whimper, but with the red-headed girl standing in her doorway, grinning up at her like the world is full of sunshine and puppies.

She looks down at her sister, and resists the urge to slam the door shut and go back to the comforts of her shit instant coffee and the shit cartoon and the shit cigarette in her shit living room. Also, the hangover. This girl is letting _way _too much daylight in.

"Tell me why I shouldn't close the door on your face," Elsa says.

"Because if you do I'll bang at it as loudly as I can and maybe scream about being a scorned lover and maybeeee break a few windows while I'm at it?" replies Anna, still grinning so brightly Elsa's starting to think she might lose her eyesight if this goes for much longer.

The pounding in her head increases and Elsa exhales, rubbing her temples. She stands aside and makes an impatient waving gesture with her hand, ushering Anna in before slamming the door shut, banishing the godawful sunlight. "Fine, have it your way. You always do."

If Anna hears the scorn in Elsa's voice, then it definitely doesn't look like it bothers her the slightest. Maybe she's getting better at hiding her emotions. Or maybe she's just inconsiderate, because she's already at the windows, opening them and ripping the curtains open to let a stream of far more potent sunlight in.

Elsa whimpers.

"Oh stop being such a baby," Anna says as she moves back towards the cushion, sitting herself smack dead in the middle. Elsa's place. "They say the sun is the most effective cure for hangovers, y'know. And healthy eating. And exercise."

"I think you mean alcohol. More alcohol is the best cure for hangover. You're letting the draft in and move over, you're at my place."

Huffing but otherwise quite obliging, Anna scoots towards the edge of the only couch in the place, and Elsa seats herself at her rightful throne. Her cigarette's burned down to its stub during the interruption, so she grabs the pack and lights another one, taking a long, slow drag before flicking the ashes of.

Peeking at the carton, Anna lets out a disgusted snort. "Pall Mall. God, you're smoking something so disgusting? Yuck."

Elsa looks at her. "And what would you know about cigarettes, Ms. Straight-A-Student?"

"I got an A minus last semester, actually. It hurts."

Elsa waits for the punchline. There's none.

"So you smoke."

A shrug. "When you're in college you try a lot of different things." And Elsa sincerely hopes that cigarettes are the worst of it. "You got some pot?"

Or not.

"Do I look like I can afford it?"

Anna shrugs again. "If hobos can afford drugs, I'm pretty sure you can."

Well, if that's the logic Anna chose, then Elsa's not sure if she can say anything back. So she goes straight to the heart of the matter. "Why are you here?"

"Mom misses you."

But not dad. She blows another smoke through her nostrils, inducing a frantic waving from Anna as she tries to banish it away. Elsa doesn't blame her. Pall Malls _do _smell quite disgusting, frankly. "I have a phone. She can call if she really misses me."

"You know that's not how they roll."

Of course she knows. "Well tell her I miss her too then," she says, deliberately sounding as insincere as possible. "Are you done? Because if you are the door's that way."

"Nope. I'm not."

Elsa tilts her head, giving the best are you fucking kidding me? look she can muster, and is about the say something when the door to her room cracks open and a red-head walks out, looking quite dishevelled and worse for wear.

They both crane their heads to look at this new arrival, and the woman stands still for a second, staring into the living room before giving the tiniest, guiltiest smile ever and rushes to the door and slams it behind her, tripping over a wayward cable on the way. It's quite possibly the most awkward walk of shame Elsa's ever seen, and she'd seen a few.

"Awkward," Anna says. "She's pretty, though."

And this is why Elsa doesn't want her here. Among many other things.

"Yeah whatever," Elsa says. She flicks another batch of ash. "Let's go get coffee. I need coffee."

Anna gives a pointed look at the coffee mug at the table, takes it and forces it in Elsa's hand. "You already have coffee."

"I meant _real _coffee." But regardless, she dutifully takes a sip anyway. Immediately regrets it. It's cold and it tastes like what she imagines tar and cement would taste like. She sets it back down on the table. "Let's go." She pats Anna's knees and starts to rise but a hand grabs her collar and pulls her back down. She shoots the offensive girl a death stare.

"We can't," Anna says with the brazen grace of not looking guilty at all. "They're telling to stay indoors."

What. "Who?"

"I dunno. The authorities. Look."

With that, Anna takes the remote control and presses the button to some news channel Elsa never bothers watching. SpongeBob's tirade or another about Patrick's stupidity is cut off, and instead of a living sponge there's a grim looking reporter staring down at them, babbling into her mic.

Eight out of ten. Would bang. Pity she's a blonde. Elsa never really likes blondes, or any other colours besides red, if that tells anything. It doesn't.

"Okaaay," Elsa drawls out. "The point, Anna?"

"The point is," Anna says patiently, "people are like, chewing on each other out there. You'd know this if you'd actually pay any attention to the world outside this room."

"Are you implying that I'm a shut-in?"

"Yep."

Oh. Okay then.

"Look, it's probably just bath salts. Psychotic druggies or not, I'm getting my coffee. You're welcome to stay here, but I'm locking the door. So you can crawl outside through the window if you want."

Anna lets out a sigh, but she stands anyway, smoothening the drapes of her skirt. "Fine. Don't tell me I didn't warn you when someone eats your face though. Wouldn't wanna lose ya y'know."

What a liar, Elsa wants to say. But she smirks and says instead, "don't worry. I can run faster than you."

"Bold claims from a nerdy shut-in."

"Shut your face, snowflake."

**-x-x-x-x-x-**

To her surprise, the coffee shop is nearly empty besides themselves and a few other handful of patrons. Either the world's gone to hell because people no longer need their morning caffeine fix, or the quality of their coffee's shot down to crap since the last time she's been here. Somehow the latter is more alarming.

Anna creeps up beside her, joining Elsa at staring into the café through the glass pane. "They don't seem… very busy, are they? You sure the coffee's good?"

"Last time I checked," Elsa says grimly, pushing the door open and stepping inside. She holds the door for Anna and gets a thanks in return. "It better still be the case. No one does mochas like they do."

Anna still looks doubtful. "Uh-huh. If you say so. We getting breakfast?"

"Yeah."

A whole platter of full English breakfast is definitely in her plans. Despite the failure of a walk of shame, the woman was definitely more than demanding yesterday. Her forearm still feels slightly stiff.

She walks up to the counter, weaving through the mess of empty tables and chairs.

"A mocha and a full breakfast," she says at the guy on the counter by way of greeting. "What do you want Anna?"

"The same, please."

The guy does his thing with the register and looks up. "That'd be twenty-two dollars and ten cents. Cash?"

"Yeah; gimme a sec." She starts to fish for her wallet, but stops short when she realises she's left it at home. Cursing under her breath, she angles herself towards Anna, arm propped casually against the counter. "Sorry. Seems like I've forgotten my wallet. Mind paying for this? I'll pay you back."

At this Anna giggles as she starts to pull out her wallet from her handbag, counts the cash and hands an exact change to the guy. "You haven't changed at all, Els. Bet you'd forget your own head if it isn't screwed on so tight."

Rolling her eyes, Elsa grabs the pole with their order number and strides back out. Part of the reason she likes this café? Outdoor tables to smoke at. Quite a rarity these days. She chooses the one farthest away from the street and plops herself down, setting the number on the table. Anna follows suit, setting her handbag primly at the empty seat between them.

"Don't worry about that by the way. My treat," Anna says without segue.

"I'll pay you back."

Sighing, Anna slumps forward and rests her cheek on her palm. "Bull headed as always. But I insist. If you don't want that, don't forget your wallet next time."

Elsa's pretty sure there's no next time. Not if she can help it. But being bull headed runs in the family, that kettle. "There's only so much room in my jeans. And that's reserved for smoke."

Anna grins. "Maybe if you'd stop wearing skin-tight clothes you will. Did you see how he was looking at you while you were walking out? If I had a fan I'd fan his face right there. Poor guy."

"Don't care. Don't swing that way."

Anna's eyebrows rise. "I thought you swing both ways?"

"Only in the most desperate of times."

The grin still sticks to Anna's face like goddamned superglue. "And I thought us whippersnappers are the ones who should be hormonal. You're not setting a very good example as a big sis, Els."

Of course she doesn't. That's why she's the estranged daughter, after all. "We all have needs, Anna. I think you know what I'm talking about."

The girl looks away and pretends she doesn't. Elsa doesn't blame her – she's going into deep, treacherous waters here, breaching on a memory they both remember but feigns ignorance of. Maybe Elsa's just testing the waters, maybe she just wants Anna to go the fuck away, back to her nice middle-class life, her nice boyfriend.

The smell of mocha wafts through the air and the counter guy is there again, cutting through the awkward silence like an unwanted intruder. He takes the cups from the tray and places it on the table in front of each of them, then slides two napkins to follow. Unlike Anna's, Elsa notices that her napkin has a phone number scribbled on it.

She glances up at him, meeting a nervous smile before he scuttles back in.

"Wow, you're popular," Anna says as she takes the napkin and scrutinises it. "Gonna give him a call? He's kinda cute. And tall."

Just like how Elsa likes her women red haired, Anna likes her men tall and broad. She supposes that's the natural order the world, with her being the deviant and Anna being Anna. Good natured, straight A student, mommy and daddy's princess.

Stretching her hand, Elsa pinches the napkin from Anna's grasp and immediately sets on to wiping the imaginary dusts from the table with it, number face down. Then crumbles it and throws it into the ashtray before taking a sip of her mocha. Still tastes the same. Thank god.

"Whoa that's—" Anna starts, flabbergasted. "That's just cruel, man. I get you're not interested in him, but you don't need to do that. Poor dude. Why'd you do that?"

"Because." And that's a perfectly valid reason. Just because is all she needs to explain most of her actions. It's not like she's running across the street, skirt torn, screaming her head off.

Like what exactly a woman is doing right now.

They both stare at the commotion, Anna stunned and Elsa indifferent. Someone's chasing a woman – a businessman with blood on his shirt, it looks like it. There are shrieks and screams but no one's made any move to stop the man.

Who knew bath salts are so prevalent, these days.

"What the hell," Anna says.

Elsa only thinks that maybe they should go inside now, because those two are getting quite close, the woman running and angling straight towards them, the safe haven of the café's doors. The man is missing a chunk from his neck. Fucking bath salts.

Without another word, she grabs Anna's arm and starts to drag her inside. It's like trying to drag a rock, because the arm is attached to a woman motionless in shock.

"Did you see… did you see his neck? Oh my god Els his neck."

"It doesn't matter! They're coming here so move it you stupid girl!" Composure lost, Elsa is nearly shouting. They're close, so close. People are running away left and right and they're sitting there like two bloody morons, staring at the charging pursuer and pursued. She tugs again and Anna finally relents, fumbling upright as she tries to grab a hold of her handbag.

Elsa yanks her harder and is about to tell her to just fucking leave that fucking thing, but she can't, the words dying in her mouth as the table adjacent to theirs and its chairs topples and crashes. An errant chair hits her right on the shin and she would've yelped, if she isn't so transfixed at the bloody sight in front of her.

Bloody. Literally.

The woman is sprawled on the ground amidst the rubble, the man on top of her. His neck is dripping blood everywhere, his jaws gaping open as he cranes his neck down…

And bites off her nose.

Anna's arm goes limp in her hand, and Elsa can only say: "fuck."


	2. The beginning

You know how they say that humans have two reactions to a potentially dangerous situation? Fight or flight. So you either try to hit the big bad wolf with whatever is it you're carrying on your person, or you buckle up and run away like a sensible human being.

Elsa thinks that's also bullshit. Whoever said that can kindly go fuck themselves. Those bastards probably never had the bad luck of seeing a human eating _another_ right at the face. When you see something like that, fight or flight is the last thing on your mind, because your brain goes blank and your body shuts the fuck down. Just like that.

They stare in silence and the woman screams and screams, one hand covering her face, the other pounding the man on the chest, thump thump thump. Blood runs through the gap between her fingers like how a trickle runs down the man's chin, and despite the commotion she can hear the crunch of cartilage against the gnash of his teeth, can hear Anna's whimper behind her.

It's odd how she notices these small things, when she can't even move her legs. A part of her says move; you need to save this woman. But another bigger, more selfish part tell her to _move_, drag Anna away from whatever this monster of a man is and just, just run the fuck away. Please. Those two thoughts run across her mind like two high-pitched siren, and she's frozen with indecision.

She wishes she can say that it takes longer for her to decide, that she'd at least entertained the thought of saving a human life for more than a split second, but truth is, it doesn't. The man's already moved on from the woman's face to her neck. The skin between his teeth goes taut as it's stretched upwards, then snaps and tears. Like rubber. Like a fucked up a foreplay where he's marking her as someone's marked him.

The woman has stopped screaming, hands falling away limply to her sides. Elsa thinks that she might be dead, but the staccato of her quivering fingers against the pavement tells her otherwise. Bile rises in her throat.

She snaps into action. She pulls Anna again, and this time it's much easier since they're both standing and Anna's snapped out of the initial shock, somewhat. She's more worried about the shock that comes after, but that's for later. Now it's just the simple, unadulterated need for flight. To protect Anna.

They sidle sideways, almost crabwalks along the wall, inching farther and farther away from the preoccupied man and his victim. They inch, but they don't run. The man is a wild animal for all they're concerned, and Elsa knows from watching too many sessions of Animal Planet that when faced with a predator, you either play dead or you try to make yourself appear bigger and hopefully scare it off.

Because whatever it is, she's no athlete and she's sure he can outrun them both several times over.

"To the car," she whispers, only glancing at Anna to see if she understands. A small nod indicates she does, and they move again.

Once they're at the intersection, Elsa breaks into a brisk jog, then a run, pace unrelenting until they've reached her parked car a block away. The familiar white of her beaten-up Toyota is a welcome relief, like the startling realisation that even through all the frantic running, Anna's hand is still warm in hers.

There's a fleeting moment where she considers backing up and yanking her hand away, but like the thought of saving the woman, it lingers only for a moment before it's shoved back down into the crevices of her mind where she stores all the broken thoughts and cast-off hopes like pennies in a jar.

"Hey snowflake," she says softly, taking in the chalky complexion of Anna's cheeks, the small, trembling hand in hers. "You okay?"

A moment passes, and Anna finally nods. "…yeah," she says. Unconvincingly, staring down at her shoes like that, looking like she's about to cry or pass out or both.

Elsa moves in and hugs her tight, jutting handbag and all. It goes against every grain of Elsa's logic, but she can't help it, just like how she couldn't help doing what she did to Anna, all those years ago. She strokes and pats Anna's back and whispers soothing nothings, just like she'd always did when they were still. Well. Whole.

Anna's her security blanket, and she's nothing but a failure of a sister.

Anna too wraps her arms around Elsa and nuzzles in deep against the curve below Elsa's collarbone. Anna's bag digs deep into her ribs but she doesn't care. They stand like that for a while before separating after a moment that feels both too long and too short.

"Thanks Els," Anna says, giving her a weak, forced smile. "I needed that. And for dragging me away. If you weren't there I probably would've just stood there in shock and gotten eaten or something. I'm glad you didn't leave me."

And did she actually think that Elsa would leave her?

Elsa voices it out loud, eyes narrowing. "Did you actually think I would leave you?"

That question catches Anna off-guard and she fumbles. "What I—no! I would never in my life think that you'd leave me—"

"Don't bother," Elsa says, cutting her off. She presses the key in her pocket, unlocking the car's doors. "I've been a bitch. I don't blame you for thinking that way."

"Elsaaaa I never thought—"

Whatever Anna wants to say next, Elsa doesn't want to hear it. So she opens the driver's door and slides in, replacing Anna's words with the vacuum silence of her car. She stares straight ahead, hands on the wheel, waiting for Anna to join her.

She does.

Thankfully she doesn't make any attempt to continue the conversation. Once both seatbelts are safely buckled in, Elsa shifts the gear and pushed down at the gas pedal.

"Are we going home?" Anna asks.

"No. We're going to Walmart."

Because she's genre savvy enough to know that this won't be an isolated incident, so naturally the first course of action is supplies. Lots and lots of them.

**-x-x-x-x-x-**

426.70, according to the receipt.

So that makes it a grand total for 448.80 that she's owing Anna. Will have to dig deep into her bank account, but she'll make sure to pay it off. Stuff it into Anna's bag when she's not looking if need be, judging by how reluctant she was at the café.

With that money they've bought everything they think is essential for survival. Water, non-perishable food, basic survival kit, flashlights, walkie-talkies, a radio, toiletries, a rope, a camping stove, small LPG cans, batteries, light sticks, binoculars, water purification tablets, metal canteens, machetes. They even got some planks and nails, just in case there's a need to barricade Elsa's thin door.

The only thing they couldn't get their hands on is a gun, thanks that New York state's more than stringent gun safety laws. The next best thing being crowbars, they bought a pair and Elsa just wishes Anna will stop playing with it.

"Oops!"

There's a sound of yet another fragile item broken, eliciting yet another cringe from Elsa. Having had enough, she strides towards Anna, catches the crowbar mid-swing and yanks it away. Then she goes to her room and tosses it haphazardly onto her bed near the other one and slams the door shut.

She dusts her palms against each other. "Playtime's over kid; no more crowbars for you."

Anna sticks a tongue out. "Cheapskate."

"Yeah yeah," Elsa says, waving dismissively. She goes back to the couch, taking care not to step on the broken plate, and continues culling through the Google search results for zombie apocalypse 2014 on the news tab.

The couch sags as Anna joins her, sitting way too close to for comfort.

"So found anything?"

Elsa doesn't take her eyes away from the screen as she replies. "Not really. Some blog posts. Lots of ranting about the having to repent for our sins. Lots of articles about Morgan Freeman, strangely."

"Yeaaah, maybe zombie apocalypse 2014 isn't the phrase to use. Try man chewing woman's face New York City instead?"

Elsa gives her a look from the ridiculousness of the phrase, but she supposes that hers isn't exactly better. So she does it anyway, replacing chewing with eating. She hits enter, clicks the first link from Huffington Post.

It takes a while for them to read through the article, but once they're done all they can do is share a speechless look.

"Holy crap," Anna says.

"Wait. One source isn't enough. Let's read more before assuming any opinions."

Like how it's evident with their supplies shopping trip, Elsa is a very, _very _thorough person. If left to her own devices she'd probably just sit there for hours, pouring through all the relevant information before making any decision, but she doubts Anna is as patient. Deciding not to waste any more time, she closes the tab and goes back to the search results, opening several new tabs for each links in succession. They start reading.

They read and read and watch embedded YouTube links. Thirty-two minutes later Elsa finds herself blowing smoke rings into the air while Anna channel surfs through the TV.

Click.

"At ten AM today—"

Click.

"—two men were found dead-"

Click.

"—repent, all ye sinners! Repent and accept—"

Click.

"—warning issued by the officials—"

Click.

"—stay at home, lock your doors, stock enough beer to keep your husbands happy and off the streets because we're in for the loooooong ride folks!"

Cue fake laughter.

Click.

"Well our phones are ringing off their hooks, Bill. Our viewers seem to be convinced it's the zombie apocalypse coming down at us. As a microbiologist, what's your take on this?"

"_The_ zombie apocalypse? Frankly, John, I find the whole thing quite ridiculous. We all know that zombies are just the concoction of people desperate to escape their trite reality—"

Click.

"There are reports coming in from Indianapolis, Phoenix, Los Angeles, San Fransisco…" A disembodied arm appears on the screen, handing the news anchor a print-out. She takes it, glances through whatever's there and sets it in front of her. "Jacksonville, Columbus, Meca and Atlanta. The Centre for Disease Control and Prevention remains tight-lipped…"

Elsa tunes the TV out. They're all telling what she and Anna already know.

"Pretty serious huh. No I understand why you bought all those items. Thought it was overkill, but hey. Glad we did."

"I am _very_ thorough," Elsa says. If she could pick her own middle name, she'd definitely choose Thorough. It practically already is.

"Think we should move the dining table against the door?"

"Good idea."

She stubs the cigarette and they rise in uniform to walk to the kitchen. Each holding an opposing end of the table, they huffed and grunted and heaved as they lifted (because Elsa has vetoed Anna's suggestion of simply dragging it across, fearing the wrath of her landlord at a ruined carpet) it the few feet it takes to reach the front door through the kitchen.

Finally, after much cursing her penchant for sturdy mahogany furniture, the table is flush against the door, overturned so that its entire surface is blocking half of the wall. Elsa thinks for a moment, then goes back to the kitchen, dragging a chair behind her. She props it against the table and considers it a job well done.

"Yeah, I don't think that's gonna help much," Anna says, clearly unappreciative of her efforts.

"You're welcome to drag the couch over too, but we won't have anywhere to sit and my biceps are about dead already, so you can do it yourself."

"That's what you get for being a shut-in. Skinny arms and all."

"I go out for coffee," Elsa says. She would have the audacity to sound indignant, if she's not slumped at floor, sitting cross-legged besides their pile of supplies. She feels like she's about to keel over and die. "And cigs."

"Which is exactly the problem. That shit kills man."

"As if I don't know that already."

"Uh-huh. So that's why…" Crap. Elsa doesn't like that tone. It always spells trouble when Anna lilts her voice high and puts her hand on her hip like that. "I'm throwing it away."

"What—"

Before Elsa can do anything Anna's already moved to the couch. She takes the cigarette carton off the table, cocks her arm up high and

And _throws it out of the fucking window._

What. The. Fuck.

Thoroughly shocked, Elsa can only stare at the remains of its flight, jaw hanging open. "You're littering," is all her mind can muster.

"Yeah. I did. Hope it doesn't hit anyone on the way down - you know what they say about coins killing people from skyscrapers and all. Lucky we're just on the fifth floor huh."

"I don't think. I don't think that's the point."

"I wish we have a treadmill here."

"And I wish I have a monster truck to run you over."

"All that grudge from a pack of cigarettes. Man, you're in deep," Anna says, tut-tuting. A small breeze drafts in from the open window, rifling the lose hair from her braids. She grins. "So, wanna hear my other wish?"

Elsa sighs, rolling her eyes. "You'll say it anyway."

"I wish you'd hug me again." The non-sequitur of that wish catches her off-guard. _Way _off-guard. Taking the silence as a chance, Anna makes one her dreaded puppy-eyes, pouting as she bats her eyelashes up and down. It might just be the light, but Elsa could've sworn that Anna's eyes are starting to moisten up. Elsa could've sworn Anna majored in Finance, not Melodrama. "Pleeease? You don't want me to have nightmares tonight, do you? I'll probably scream the whole house down and it won't be very pleasant."

Puppy look intensifies.

"I'm not sure how a hug will help."

"It will because you give the best hugs ever, Els. Or…" Anna's grin falters. "Do you really hate me?"

Elsa sighs. Even all this time, Anna still has her wrapped around her pinky and she hates herself for it. But it'll just be for a while, she tells herself. She'll ship Anna off somewhere as soon as possible, and after that her life will be back to being boring and shit and uncomplicated. For now she'll play along, so she crosses the room to where Anna stands and gives her a one-armed hug, patting Anna's back with an awkward gusto.

In return, Anna squeezes her so tight she feels like her ribs are about to break.

"Wow, this hug is really crap," Anna says into her clavicle.

"Hngh," Elsa groans in agreement as her ribs creak. Her patting increases in frequency. "Can't… can't breathe… let… go…"

"Oh. Sorry." Anna's vice hug loosens and air, sweet air rushes back into her lungs. But Anna hasn't let go though, her body still flush against Elsa. "Not letting you go until you give me a proper hug, so try harder."

Elsa does. Try harder that is, wrapping both her arms around Anna in what she thinks constitutes as a proper hug if only to make this ordeal go away as soon as possible. It might be the worst ordeal she's faced in forever because the action means that her groin is pressed onto Anna's lower abdomen and she can smell the shampoo (strawberry, she thinks) wafting from Anna's hair.

And this is _why_ she doesn't want Anna here or anywhere near her life, because all she wants now is to die. Or grind her hips against Anna's taut stomach, or trail kisses down Anna's neck and hear her call Elsa's name and push her onto the couch and take that goddamned skirt off, tear off the white cotton panties, feel the slick warmth, hear the small gasps and muffled moans.

Elsa wants to do all this so, so badly she feels like her knees are about to buckles from the weight of her desire alone. She's the horniest, most fucked up person in town because who the fuck thinks about fucking their own sister after having just watched a woman being eaten alive?

Elsa, that's who.

And despite all this, Anna's still hugging her tight, oblivious to the fantasies playing through Elsa's mind like a shitty 8mm reel. But she can't stop it just as she can't stop the throbbing between her legs by willpower alone, so she decides the best course of action is to shove Anna way.

The girl's eyes widen. "Elsa what—"

Too late. Elsa is already running to the bathroom, having decided to take the longest, coldest shower in her life.

**-x-x-x-x-x-**

When she's finally properly exorcised, dried and clothed, she goes back to the living room with a towel hanging off her neck to catch the water droplets from her only very briefly dried hair. Anna is munching on a bag of chips, staring at the TV blankly.

"Yo," Elsa says in her most practised casual voice ever. Then cringes inside, because she thought she'd grown out of the yo phase when she was fifteen, but apparently not.

Anna cranes her neck back, then slings her arm over the couch's backrest, looking at Elsa with an eyebrow raised. "Took you long enough."

"I felt dirty from today. Needed to disinfect myself. Thoroughly." It's not a lie. Technically.

"Yeah, I kinda feel dirty myself. Maybe I should disinfect myself too." Wow. This conversation _really_ can go both ways. For her own sake, she hopes not. Anna continues. "You surprised me by running away like that. But then again I should be used to it by now." Ouch. That's a low blow. "So, hot or cold?"

Elsa blinks. "What?"

"The shower. Hot or cold?"

"Scalding hot." Now this, is a big fat lie. "Why would I shower with cold water?"

"Uh-huh, sure," Anna says, munching on another chip. A strange reaction to an answer to a strange question. She can't possibly know, can she? Because Elsa's not sure she has the strength to suffer from this again. "Just making sure you didn't run all the hot water out, that's all."

Apparently not. Thank fucking god, Elsa thinks. She lets out a mental sigh of relief. "Don't worry about that. The tank's big enough for us both."

"Cool."

"Cool," parrots Elsa. She joins Anna at the couch at takes the offered chips, taking a handful before dumping them on her left hand, using it as a makeshift plate. "Anything new?"

"I think it's getting worse.'

She isn't surprised. "Elaborate." There's a moment of silence as Anna mutes the channel, then fiddles with the remote control, turning it this way and that in her hands. "…Anna?"

Anna looks at her, a worry that wasn't there just minutes ago framing her face. "You know how in zombie movies the urban areas are always the crappiest place to stay in?"

Ah. Elsa knows where this is going. "So you think we should leave?"

"I think it's just best to have a head start. There's more reports coming in from the rest of the world, and people have started the looting phase thing. I think we've both watched enough movies to know where this is going."

That's true. Chronic hero mode, complacency and absolutely refusal to accept the truth are what usually kill people in those movies. It's a bit ridiculous that they're talking about zombies like they're not just people slathered in make-up to be watched for a few hours while munching on popcorn but well, they've seen how it goes just this morning, and Elsa is never too entirely grounded in reality to refuse the evidence that the world is indeed at the brink of a zombie apocalypse.

Just like being thorough, she's also very good at self-preservation.

She finishes the last of the chips in her hand and dusts them both together, crumbs falling down to the carpet.

"Okay," she says. "So I'll go camp out in the mountains somewhere, and you'll go to the airport and go back to your—I mean our parents' house. It's out of the way enough you should be fine for a while. Then you guys can build a bunker or whatever."

"Still trying to get rid of me huh?" Anna's smiling, but it doesn't reach her eyes. There's accusation beneath the light hearted tone, and Elsa pretends not to hear.

"Only for your own good."

"Well bad luck," Anna says. "Mom and dad's off in Canada or something, so you're the only person I've got."

Canada huh. Absentee parents. Typical of them. Then she remembers what Anna said this morning. "Wait. Did you tell me you were here because mom wanted to meet me?"

"Nope! I just said she misses you. Didn't say anything about meeting her. That's your own conclusion."

Oh goddamnit. She hates that coy, devilish grin. Walked right into that one.

"_Fine._ Any friends you can stay with, then?"

Anna pats her on the shoulder and says, "you."

And she can't help but sigh with all she's worth. "I'm your sister, not your friend, Anna. There's a distinction between those two." Also, no friend worth their salt would just throw away a perfectly good pack of cigarettes. Heresy, pure and simple.

"Well, we were best friends before. I can't see why we can't at least try to be one again. Remember when we used to build snowmen together? You named them all after sweets. Marshmallow, Liquorice, Bonbon—"

"You know damned well why we can't," Elsa cuts her off, voice rough. Massaging her temple, she tries to loosen the stiffness of her jaw, only aware she'd been clenching it all through Anna's nostalgia tinged glasses until now.

"And why is that?" Anna says. Calm.

So full of guile Elsa wonders if this is really the grinning girl who had spent her childhood following Elsa around with her oversized pink pyjamas, begging to play in the snow, build snowmen together.

Anna says again, "is it because you want to be more than friends? More than sisters?"

"Fuck you."

"Or fuck me. I saw what that hug did to you. I'm not blind, Elsa."

What the fuck.

"Jesus fucking Christ Anna. Stop it. Please. Why the fuck are you even bringing it up now? As if I don't have enough crap as it is."

"Maybe I'm just tired of you pushing me away," Anna says, shrugging. The lack of change in her expression is disturbing. "Or maybe I just feel like reminding you I'm not the sweet, innocent girl you're still seeing me as. I think you made sure of that."

She did, didn't she.

All the shame and guilt and memories she's been trying to supress all this this time are dredging themselves out from the depth of the murky water that's her mind, as if Anna has cast a net out, singling out all the things Elsa doesn't want and hands it over on a silver platter.

"I'm sorry," Elsa says. As if she hasn't said it over and over again in her dreams, in her waking moments, said it to Anna's naked, crying body. "I'm so, so sorry."

She wants to bury her face in her hands, but Anna's already snatched them away, holding them tight together.

"I forgive you," Anna says. For some goddamned reason she's smiling, and somehow that's worse than the look of disgust Elsa's expecting. "Although I think I've said it waaay too many times already. What can I do to get through that thick skull of yours?"

Nothing. Because she's not ready to be forgiven. Doesn't deserve it, frankly.

"You can't."

"Doesn't stop me from trying. I love you Els. I've never stopped loving you even for a single moment." But not the love Elsa wants, though. Never that. "And I know from this morning that you do too. You would've tried to save the woman if I weren't there, were you?"

"You think too highly of me. I would've done the same regardless if you were there or not. I would've still run away. Self-preservation triumphs everything." Her hand feels clammy in Anna's, like her words.

Anna chuckled indulgently. "Liar. You're a lot of things, but a selfish coward isn't one of them. In fact, you're positively suffering from chronic heroism. You're a goddamned martyr, and that's Dr. Anna Welde's diagnosis and you better accept it."

"I'm just a fucked up idiot."

"Aren't we all?"

"No, not you. You're the most unfucked up person I know."

"Then you don't know me yet. But it's okay, I'll give you a chance to." She darts in, giving Elsa a quick peck on the cheek and finally lets go of Elsa's hands. "So I'm sticking with you. You can camp and snuggle up with bears all you want, but don't ever think you're getting rid of me. Otherwise I'll come back as a zombie and try to eat your brain."

It's an ultimatum, like a royal decree from a queen to her subject. She mulls, trying to come up for any reason to keep Anna away, but everything comes to nothing. She's afraid of herself, what she might do if Anna comes too close and she loses control again, but more than that, more than her self-loathing and disgust, she's afraid of losing Anna, like she almost did today.

Keeping Anna close seems the best way to ensure that doesn't happen.

So reluctantly, very reluctantly, she agrees. "Okay. But please just keep in mind that I—that I might-" she swallows hard. "Hurt you. Again."

"Don't worry; I won't let you." There's no hint of even the slightest hint of concern or distrust in Anna's voice.

Naïve, that's what Anna is. Naïve, foolish, brash, lovable.

She fetches her phone lying on the coffee table and starts scrolling through her contacts list. Kristoff's name appears after a few short swipes. It's not that she has many friends, really. Most of the contacts are takeout places. "All right then. Just give me a moment."

"Who are you calling?"

"Kristoff. He's a friend."

She presses the call icon and waits.

He picks up on the third ring. Prompt as always.

"Hey there Els, long time no hear."

His voice crackles, full of static. Goddamned rural reception. Still, it's nice hearing from him, god knows it's been too long since they've seen each other. No time for pleasantries though, so she goes straight to the point. "Listen, have you heard about what's happening?"

"Yeah – Sven stop chewing on the rug! Sorry, he was – goddamnit boy!" There's a thud and then silence. Elsa waits, tapping her nails against her thigh. "'kay back. Anyway yeah. They're all over the news and people are going pretty crazy with worry. Barricading windows and stuff. Pretty bad there?"

"We saw a woman being attacked today," Elsa says. "Been holed up in my apartment ever since, but I think it's getting worse."

"I can imagine. Cities are like the worst ever to bunker down in during a zombie outbreak – and I can't believe I'm saying this with a straight face, but hey, the internet never lies. You better get your ass over here and help me barricade the fort."

She lets out a small smile. This is why they're such good friends; their minds always seemed to be in sync. "That's what I'm planning to, don't worry. You mind if I bring my sister over?"

"Sure! The more the merrier. About time I meet her anyway. What time you coming?"

"Where are you, again?"

"Cortland County."

"Gimme a sec," she says, then holds her palm above the mouthpiece. "Cortland county. Google maps it."

Anna nods, setting about on the laptop as she loads the direction from their place. "Around three and a half hours," she says, "and that's the shortest route."

"Thanks," she says, then removes her palm. "Give us say, five hours? Assuming nothing goes wrong."

"Cool. I'll still be awake watching amateur shaky cam vids of real life zombies, so just give me a call when you're here."

"Will do. Text me your address too."

"Yep. And be safe, okay?"

"Definitely. See you then."

Elsa hangs up.

"So we're going now?" Anna asks.

"Yeah. Go to my room and pick out the most practical clothes. Change into it and put the rest in the duffel bags. I'll start packing up our supplies."

**-x-x-x-x-x-**

In the end, it takes them nearly an hour to pack everything up: clothes in the duffel bags, the smaller of the supplies crammed into two oversized hiking packs. The bigger ones, like the water galons are carried by hand to the car.

Five trips back and forth from her apartment to the car.

"Oh finally," Anna says, struggling with slinging the backpack onto her shoulders. She grunts and huffs, and finally Elsa relents and holds the bottom of the pack up as Anna puts her left shoulder into the strap. "Thanks Els. Man, this takes forever. Shouldn't have barricaded the door. Shouldn't have taken the supplies out of the car."

"No use crying over spilled milk. Are we forgetting anything?"

They take another cursory sweep over the apartment.

"Nope. I think we're good," Anna says. She opens the door and holds it for Elsa. "Unless you forgot your wallet again."

"Don't be cheeky." Sliding out after her, Elsa claps her on the shoulder and trudges down the hallway, stopping in front of the elevator.

She reaches forward and is about to press the button down when Anna elbows her. "Hey, do you know that guy?"

"What guy?"

"That guy. The guy staring at us in front of 503."

503. The sweet old couple who regularly shoves apple pies down their neighbours' throat whether they want it or not. Turning around, she finds half of that couple, old Mr. Jones standing still in front of his apartment, looking at them in this odd, empty way.

Thousand yard stare.

"Mr. Jones? Are you all right?" she asks, cautiously. Unconsciously she takes a few steps back, ushering Anna with her.

His arms are hanging limp by his sides and he's still, so very still it's surreal. Elsa doesn't have a good feeling about this, the hair on her neck rising up.

"Help me," he says. Again: "help me."

Anna takes a step forward to do exactly that, but she quickly yanks her back by the strap on the pack. Exactly like this morning. This doesn't bode well.

"Help you with what? What happened?" This time it's Anna, the good Samaritan.

"I killed my wife."

Well crap.

She doesn't know how to process it. Why would he kill his wife? Why is he admitting it to them instead of running away? What does he expect them to do?

"Have you… have you called 911?" Elsa says. Sirens are blaring through her mind.

"I killed my wife. She bit me." And he lifts his right hand up, his cuffs sliding down to reveal a bite mark. "I stabbed her through the heart. But she's still alive. She's eating our dog. Help me."

They give each other a look, understanding dawning. Without another word Elsa mashes the elevator button, and keeps mashing it until it dings and the doors open. Even when they're already inside the doors are closing, they can still see him staring at them, staring and staring until he's finally out of sight and the elevator whizzes down.

They step out into the lobby. Empty besides the lone security guard still reading his newspaper. He looks up from it. "Got everything, Ms. Welde?"

"Yeah," Elsa says. "We'll be going now. And Jose?"

"Yeah?"

"I think you better leave. Go home."

He snorts, turning another page. "Thanks for your concern but I'm all right. Ain't no small accident's gonna cost me my job. Have enough fear mongering nowadays this ain't nothing, probably just gonna pass after tonight, y'know what I mean?"

"Sure," Elsa says. Anna keeps quiet. "Take care, all right?"

"You too, miss."

And with that, they're off, stepping through the lobby's automatic door and into the night. Four hours until she sees Kristoff. She hopes nothing will happen during the journey there.

She hopes Jose's right, and that everything will go back to normal tomorrow.


	3. The short road there

"…fries."

Elsa snaps, still momentarily distracted by her phone. "Huh?"

"The fries. Are you gonna eat all of that?" Anna repeats, staring straight ahead at the road.

"What fries?"

"The extra extra extra large fries in the backseat? Even if you don't remember that, you should at least remember the poor girl's face when you ordered."

Oh, that. "Those are for Kristoff," says Elsa flippantly, staring out at the passing trees. "He likes his fries cold and soggy. The soggier the better."

"Wow. That's… kinda weird."

She shrugs. "You like your pizza fermented at room temperature for at least a day. You're hardly one to talk."

"That's true," Anna says with a chuckle.

God; witnessing Anna eat those day-old pizza might be the most disgusting thing ever. At least Elsa has the audacity of liking fresh, warm food. People these days.

A buzz on her phones indicates another message from Kristoff.

_How far are you? I want my ducking fries,_ it reads, inexplicably hilarious from overly polite auto-correct.

_Half way. Your ducking fries will be there shortly so don't ducking worry. Hope my sister doesn't drive us into a cow,_ she types back, following his convention.

_I'm getting your life insurance, right?_

_Ha bloody ha._

With it done, she locks her phones again and resumes staring at the passing trees. Not that she can see any besides silhouettes, but she can at least imagine. It's dark and there's no source of light besides the car's headlight, but imagining trees is a far better alternative than imagining scenarios involving zombies prowling in the forest, slowly drawn to the road from the sound and light emitting from the car.

"Is that Christopher again?" Anna asks, breaking the see-saw tug in her mind between tranquil trees and rotten flesh.

"Kristoff. Yeah. He was asking how much longer it'll take for us to deliver his fries."

"You guys seem pretty close."

"We're very good friends."

"A shut-in like you? _Friends?"_ Anna looks at her in mock horror, and Elsa has to remind her to pay attention to the road. "Just surprised is all. Thought takeout places are your only friends, but guess even the great Anna Welde can be wrong sometimes."

Well, ninety-five percent takeout places and five percent personal contact (and half of them expired bootycalls she has never bothered with deleting), but Elsa's not going to say that. She'd rather have a zombie pry open her head and eat her brain first that admit to her sister that she really is quite as friendless as they say.

So she tries the deflection route instead. "I should be insulted at your insinuation, really. Weren't you the one who told me that I'm Ms. Popular?"

Anna snorts. "Yeah, only among my guy friends, and only because of your looks. They usually run away screaming for their mommies once they know your personality though."

Oh right. The bane of being the 'hot' sister. She still remembers Anna's googly eyed friends. Goddamned high school kids and their hormones. So wonders why they were so into her when Anna – who by all means is more beautiful, more of a better person than her - is right _there_; talk about taking things for granted.

She never liked Anna's friends.

"They're idiots," Elsa says, not clarifying what she means by that. "If you're still in touch with them I'd suggest dropping them off on a cliff somewhere. Most of them were just using your friendship to get into my pants."

"Oh I realised that a long time ago, don't worry—" Then, as if realising the implication of what she says, Anna starts stuttering, attempting to throw a save. "I—I mean not like that. It wasn't your fault and I'm _so _over Erik so don't worry. I mean obviously I've had boyfriends since him so uh, it's not like I'm damaged goods or anything. Mentally, I mean. And physically! Definitely not physically! Or mentally! I'm not blaming you at all Els. Nope. I—"

And before Anna can go into full-blown hysteria from her attempt to somehow explain everything that's all right with the world, Elsa cuts her short. Like Anna, she doesn't want to relive the event they're both touching and desperately trying to veer off from. "I know."

An audible sigh of relief from Anna. "Oh. Good. Just um. Yeah. Let's not go there again. Once a night is enough I think."

Or once _ever_.

"I agree," Elsa says.

They fell into silence: a mixture of awkward and comfortable. Elsa's fine with that. She's gone through way too many completely awkward silences – usually the morning after – that this doesn't bother her the slightest.

"So um. Have you had any girlfriends?"

But apparently Anna doesn't think so, because she's apparently decided to change their topic to personal relationships, something that only ranks slightly below Hitler in Elsa's list of Things Not to Talk About Ever.

Still, as evident from their talk in her apartment (which is listed way above Hitler), she at least owes it to Anna to not push her away anymore, to give a semblance of insight to Elsa's sorry state of affairs after all the years they've spent being estranged.

So she gives the most cursory answer: "I've had a few."

"Like the girl from this morning? What's her name anyway?"

"Don't know. Joyce or Jessica or something."

This time Anna's staring at her in real horror and Elsa sighs, having to once again remind Anna that she should keep her eyes on the road. At all cost. Self-preservation and all that shit. "Please pay attention to the road. It'll be quite sad if our journey ends not because of zombies, but because a deer had decided to ram itself into the windshield when you weren't paying attention."

"Oh, sorry." The car swerves ever so slightly, and Elsa becomes really worried. "But oh heck; a shut-in is one thing, but I didn't know you're such an alcoholic you can't even remember your girlfriend's name."

She blinks. Not from the accusation that she's an alcoholic, but from Anna's well – naivety. For someone so coy, she's also still so utterly naïve it hurts. "You think she's my girlfriend?"

It's Anna's turn to blink back. "She's not? But she spent the night in your place didn't she?"

"Yes."

"Which question?"

"Both."

"Oh okay." A pause. Then realisation dawned and Elsa can see Anna's eyes widen in the dim light. "_Right._ Just a one night stand. Gotcha. Totally makes sense."

"Finally. Thinking must hurt your poor pretty head so, doesn't it?"

"Shut up you jerk. Or I'm gonna make the most insulting blonde joke ever and you're totally gonna regret it."

"I want to see you try."

And Anna does. She really, really does. Try thinking, that is. Seeing her brows furrow like that in utmost concentration for the most unimportant thing in the world ever, Elsa wants to burst out laughing.

"Well I can't think of any blonde jokes now, but I got a better one," Anna says when she's finally done trying to think. "Okay here it comes. Prepare yourself."

"Please. I can't take it anymore. I think I'm going to burst from the excitement of your undoubtedly amazingly joke," Elsa deadpans.

"Yo mama's so fat she thought Cornelius Fudge is a type of dessert."

Okay. That does it. Unable to help herself, Elsa ends up laughing so hard she's afraid a rib might break. She laughs and laughs until she's slumped against the window, breath hitching as she tries to recover from her hurting stomach.

"Oh my god," she says in between gasps. "You thought for like five minutes and that's the best you can come up with? God it's so terrible I can't help but—" And she starts laughing again, tears starting to form in her eyes.

"You're such a jerk, Els. Can't believe this is what I get from trying." Despite that, Anna's giggling, then dissolves into a full blown laugh.

Their laughter mingles together, filling the car with warmth and merriment. Like the good ol' days. Elsa hadn't thought she'd missed it, but she does. Painfully so. Letting Anna in is still a huge mistake, but maybe it's becoming less of one.

She can't help it. She says the first thing that comes to mind: "god you're so fucking cute it hurts."

Anna's laughter dies, replaced by a stammer and what Elsa could've sworn is a hint of blush on her cheeks.

"_Cute?_" Anna squeaks. "Oh um. I. Well gee. Thanks?"

And she is. She really is. Her reaction is odd though, like she's not used to being told that.

"It's compliment, Anna. I believe this is where you're supposed to compliment me back."

"You're… cute… too?"

It's said so haltingly and with so much effort she would've gone into a laughing fit again if not for her poor stomach.

"It's okay. You tried. You'll get better if you keep at it. Good job," she says drily, patting Anna on the shoulder.

"Careful, any more sarcasm and I might just bleed to death," Anna says. "Do you really mean that?"

"That even you can do it if you try hard enough?"

Anna makes a face at the windshield. "Not that, silly. When you said I'm cute."

Right. This really _is _odd.

"Yes I do. Doesn't anyone ever tell you that?"

"They do. But uhm…" Anna shifts in her seat, uncomfortable. "It's usually guys who say that, and usually only because they want to. Uhhh…"

"Bang you?" Suggests Elsa, who knows the exact feeling like the back of her own hand.

"…that. So it's kinda nice hearing it from you, Els. I mean, just a compliment without expecting anything back y'know?"

And all the mirth she feels melts away, replaced by the twisting feeling in her gut, like it's being stabbed by a knife laced with a poison called guilt. Because despite everything she still wants Anna, doesn't she? Wants her so bad she'd crawl on glass, she'd move half a country away just to never see her again.

The self-righteous part of her, the one perched on her mighty high horse wants to string each one of those men by their necks, but really, she's just as bad as they are. She wants to say that they're just stupid, perverted little fucks but what right does she have? So she settles at the safest route: sisterly pep-talk.

"Those men aren't worth it, Anna. You deserve someone better. Someone who loves and appreciates you just as you are."

"Thanks Els, but I figured that out already. I'm trying. Even right now, I'm trying."

"Good," Elsa says, settling back onto the backrest, pushing her back hard against the cushioning. "You'll find that person soon enough."

"I think I already did."

Of course she has.

"Care to tell me who?" She keeps her voice level, as if Anna's simple sentence isn't a scalpel that's cutting her heart. Tiny criss-cross lines.

"You'll find out soon enough." Then abruptly Anna changes topics, and Elsa is glad for it. The human heart is fragile, and if changing topics is what protects hers then so be it. "So about you and Christopher—"

"Kristoff."

"—Kristoff, how'd you guys meet?"

The sceneries are changing from trees to empty farmlands.

"We met while he was working at that café. We chatted."

"Then?"

"Then we dated."

The car swerves wildly before stabilising again and Elsa stares at Anna, wide eyed.

"Sorry. There was a pothole."

"There was _no pothole_, Anna!"

"You probably missed it. So you guys dated. How long?"

The nerve of that girl to casually continue with her line of questioning even after their near death experience. If they're not already more than halfway through Elsa would've demanded them to stop right then and there and wrestle her for the driver's seat. How did she end up not driving, anyway?

"Els?"

"Sorry, I was writing my will. To answer your question: nearly a year. We broke up a few weeks before our first anniversary."

"Okay." Anna's brows furrowed again, for some reason. Definitely not from bad yo mama jokes. Maybe she's just surprised that someone like Elsa can hold a relationship for so long. Elsa doesn't blame her, really. "I thought you don't swing that way unless you're desperate. Were you?"

What's with the interrogation? But Kristoff is a safe enough conversation, so Elsa doesn't find herself minding much. He's one of the few things in this world she can tolerate.

"Yes to not swinging that way, no to desperation. You know how you can like a person without the slightest care for their gender? He's one of them. We connected on such an intimate level I found myself not caring much, if at all."

"Do you love him?" Present tense.

"I'm fond of him."

"Okay." Silence reigns again, and Elsa notices they're going slower and slower, until finally the car goes to a complete stop at the side of the road. "Mind taking over? Feel kinda sleepy – think I'll doze off until we reach his house if you don't mind."

"Sure," Elsa says, thanking the gods of self-preservation. "I'll wake you up when we're there."

**-x-x-x-x-x-**

"Holy crap; it looks like something from a horror movie. Is anyone even home?" Anna says as she wipes the drool of her mouth.

Slowing the car to a haltnear Kristoff's front porch, Elsa shifts the gear to park and jerks the handbrake up. She surveys the house. It _does_ admittedly look creepy, with the wind chime swaying in the wind, the rocking chair gently rocking on its own. Also the fact that all lights are off.

"Probably jerking off to porn or something." Anna gives her a look, and Elsa sighs. "I'd give him a call, but there's no reception. You wait here, I'll go knock on his door and see what's up... _hey!_"

Too late. Anna's already out of the car, taking a crowbar with her. Yep. She knew it. Putting the crowbars at the backseat (or anywhere in a one mile radius from Anna, really) is a mistake. Having no other choice, Elsa grabs the other crowbar (more from self-defence at Anna's chronic crowbar whirlwinding than zombies) and follows suit, slamming the car's door shut before she starts towards the porch, gravel crunching underneath the soles of her boots.

"Duuude, this is creepy," says Anna from behind her.

Elsa represses the urge to sigh again. "You told me that. Now stop playing with that goddamned thing before Kristoff assumes we're serial killers and shoots us dead."

"What is he a redneck?"

"Who says I don't enjoy having a redneck with big, loaded gun in my bedroom?"

"Ewwwww."

Not bothering to dignify that with a response, she crosses the porch, swerving in an arc to avoid the creepy rocking chair and uses the crowbar to knock – well, bang on the door.

"And _I'm _the one playing with the crowbar how?" Anna mutters under her breath.

And Elsa decides to bang on the door again, just because. Nearly a minute later there's some shuffling behind the door, and she can hear Sven's ecstatic barks. Even his barks are cute – she's kinda looking forward to meeting the dog more than Kristoff.

Finally, the door opens a crack, Kristoff's head peeking out. Then seeing Elsa, he breaks into a wide grin, swings it open and envelops her in the second bone crushing hug she's had that night, crowbar and all. What's with people and rib breaking nowadays?

"Fucking A Els, thought a zombie ate you on the way or something!" Just as abruptly he breaks off and holds her an arm's width apart, his hands on her shoulders. Sven takes the chance to swoop in between them, standing on his rear legs to put his paws on her abdomen, begging for a kiss. And Elsa does just that, dropping the crowbar to shrug Kristoff's hold off. She bends down, then proceeds blow raspberries at the cutest thing ever's mouth. "Wow, you chose the dog over me. Talk about ego crushing and oh hey Elsa's sister! I believe we haven't met. I'm Kristoff, by the way."

He takes Anna's hand and shakes it wildly, impervious to her baffled look.

"Nice to meet you too, Kristoff. I'm Anna," she finally manages, "I believe Elsa's mentioned me a couple of times?"

Still buried underneath Sven's flinging paws and sloppy kisses, Elsa tries to shoot him a warning glare but it falls under blind eyes, naturally.

"Of course. Actually, when does she _not_ talk about you? I would've felt kinda jealous, if I weren't such a terrific gentleman."

"Oooh, what did she say about me?"

All right. This is veering into very dangerous territory. Before he can say anything more incriminating, she gently hefts Sven away and proceeds to stand in the space between Kristoff and Anna, shooting him her best continue and you're going to be six feet under faster than you can say mommy look.

He shrugs, giving her a guilty not guilty smile.

"Hey Els? I can't see…"

Ignoring Anna's whine, Elsa crosses her arms. "So, what's the plan?"

"We're going to get my fries, that's the plan," Kristoff says.

And she thinks she's chosen the wrong people to hang out during a zombie apocalypse. It's fast becoming one of those stupid zombie road trip movies with her as the straight man to these two not-so-hilarious characters. What next? A token black man? Someone busting out a camcorder?

Thankfully no one busted out any camcorder (though no one busted out a token black man too, and Elsa feels slightly disappointed at the lack of racial diversity), what's with Anna and Kristoff already at the car, unloading shit from the trunk.

Sighing, she goes after them and watches with her hands in her pockets as her trunks empties and the ground fills with scattered supplies.

Kristoff finds the machete and whistles. "Whoa. You're not kidding when you said you're well prepared."

"I'm _very _thorough," Elsa says, giving her catchphrase. He unsheathes the machete. "Wait, don't play with—"

But too late. Of course he was already playing with it, engaging in a machete/crowbar fight with Anna, laughing like two very big, very mentally ill kids.

"Right. Of course no one would listen to me. Why do I even try?"

Shaking her head, she waits until those two idiots are a reasonable distance away as to avoid death by clobbering/decapitation, then darts in to snatch her oversized pack. Ushering Sven to follow, she says, "remember to bring the supplies in when you're done dismembering each other."

"Yes mom!" they say in a chorus.

Yep; she's definitely chosen the wrong people to brace the zombie apocalypse with. Her life expectancy dropped from about eighty to twenty-four right then and there.


End file.
